Friday, February 6

Out of the Darkness Walk

It has been four years, one month, and twenty-two days since
I last heard my dad say, “I love you.”On December 14, 2010 I lost my daddy to suicide.I can still remember every detail of that
dreadful day as if no time has passed.

I was working from home when my phone rang at 3:14 pm.It was my dad.I answered with my usual greeting and waited
for a response.A hushed “I love you”
was sighed from his lips.I instantly
knew something wasn’t right.

“I love you, too, Daddy! --- Are you okay?”His response still haunts me…“I will be soon sweetheart.”His voice had an echo to it, like he was in a
bathroom or a small space and I could tell he wasn’t himself.It was as if he had been crying for hours
with barely enough strength to talk.I
asked if he wanted to talk about it, but the conversation was cut short.He had somewhere to be, but just wanted to
call me and say how much he loved me.Confused and slightly uneasy, I said goodbye to my dad for the last
time.

A few minutes later my phone rang again.This time it was my grandmother.Our conversation was normal until she asked,
“Is everything okay there?”I immediately
started crying and told her that I wasn’t okay.I replayed the conversation I had just had with my dad and she started
to cry… He had called her too and she was concerned.My next phone call was to my mom where I
quickly found out that he had also called her, she too was uneasy about their
conversation.It was as if he was
checking people off of a list - which
sent us all into panic mode.

My dad had struggled with depression for years.He was medicated, counseled, medicated some
more, and even spent a week in a hospital to get help during my freshman year
of college.All of our minds went to the
worst-case scenario.We divided up and
decided to search for him.My mom went
to his office, my brother to hospitals and I went to their house to see if
maybe he was there.No one was
successful.An email from him sat on the
computer, a mix of legal jargon and work happenings, but the thing that stood
out most was the way he closed the email; “God forgive me…”

Hours later, ridden with anxiety, minds rolling with
possible devastating outcomes we all (with the exemption of my then 13 year old
sister who still hadn’t returned from her basketball game) reconvened at my
parent’s house.The next 7 hours are a
mixed blur of emotions.I spent time
hiding in his closet behind rows of button down shirts and dress pants crying
and praying that he was just taking a drive to clear his head.I prayed, and prayed, and begged God not to
take my dad from me.

When my sister finally came home she stopped in her tracks
as she walked into a room of friends and family who simply couldn’t hide their
red eyes and distressed looks from their faces.She instantly panicked as I took her into her room and choked out the
words, “We can’t find Daddy…”We sat in
her room with sobs shaking out from our bodies.We hoped for the best, but deep down in our hearts, knew that something
was very wrong.

I will never forget the shrieking cry that shot through the
walls next.It was as if someone had grabbed
my mother by the heart and shredded her every being.To this day, I think this will be the sound
that fills the empty spaces of Hell.It
was then that we knew… My dad was gone.

Four days later, on his 48th birthday, I read a
letter to my dad as we celebrated his life at his funeral.

I suffered from depression and anxiety after his passing and
was put on medications to help.I didn’t
have the money to get proper counseling so, in a last attempt effort to pull
myself together I started going to grief counseling at the Warm Place, a
nonprofit organization in Fort Worth.It
was through this counseling and the overwhelming love of my Heavenly Father
that I was able to process and accept the death of my dad.I am now 100% free of antidepressants or
medications and have never felt better in my life.

God has used this tragic story to drastically change my
world, my heart, and my everything, for the better.However, if I could go back and change the
events that unfolded on that fateful day, I wouldn’t hesitate for a
moment.

Please support me as I take an amazing journey. The Out of the Darkness
Overnight Experience is an 16-18 mile walk over the course of one night.
Net proceeds benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention,
funding research, advocacy, survivor support, education, and awareness
programs – both to prevent suicide and to assist those affected by
suicide.

I am walking to remember my dad.I am walking to give thanks for my life – a
life that could have all too easily followed the same path.I am walking to raise awareness.I am walking to, hopefully, prevent someone
else from this terrible death.I am
walking because depression and suicide have shaken and transformed my
family.My prayer is that every dollar
earned will go to helping someone like me; recover from the loss of a loved one
to suicide.

I know that reading this could not have been an easy thing
to do, and I thank you for taking the time to do so.Thank you so much for your donations and love
as we continue to walk on this journey together.We will never recover from the loss of my
dad, but by the grace of God, we will live our lives to the absolute fullest as
we remember the incredible man that he was, and do our best to honor his
legacy.

You can donate by visiting our team page "Galen's Legacy." Your gifts will not only allow us to walk for this amazing cause, but will also help others like myself as they deal with the effects of suicide in their lives.

5 comments:

I had no idea you had been through something so tragic. I lost a friend to suicide when I was a teenager. He was no where near as close to me as your precious father was/is to you. We will pray for you all as you continue to heal.

Nicki, I just read this post again. It broke my heart. I'll never be able to make up for not being there for you, not calling you as soon as I read this more than a year ago. But I'm going to work as hard as I can at it anyway.

Yesterday, while we were with friends for Easter, someone talked about a new job she got in the Dallas area. I immediately told her that, if she's looking for a church, she should go to the one where "my surrogate daughter" led worship. That's what I call you now. That's what you are to me.